


2:01(Mistletoe) through 2:03(Monday's Child)

by fireflysglow_archivist



Category: Firefly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-18
Updated: 2006-01-18
Packaged: 2019-04-29 07:43:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14468100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireflysglow_archivist/pseuds/fireflysglow_archivist
Summary: Legacy almost comes apart as the crew rescues Sylvia, a new foe is introduced, and Friday's past is finally revealed.





	2:01(Mistletoe) through 2:03(Monday's Child)

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Firefly’s Glow](https://fanlore.org/wiki/Firefly%27s_Glow), and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2018. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Firefly's Glow collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/fireflysglow/profile).

2:01(Mistletoe) through 2:03(Monday's Child)

## 2:01(Mistletoe) through 2:03(Monday's Child)

Mistletoe 

Malcolm Reynolds eyes flew open at that sound, the sound of something docking with his ship. It had been so long, now. He'd gone to the rendezvous point, where Kell had bade them wait. He waited, as the ships showed up one after another. He waited as Kell transferred dishomed crew back to their original ships. He waited as the ships flew off, into the Black, one after another. He waited, and even Kell gave up and left. And still he waited.  
"Captain, we've got new arrivals," Kaylee's cheerful voice announced, and he was out of the pilot's seat like a shot. He hadn't even realized he'd fallen asleep. He practically jogged down the the cargo bay, almost running down the sweet girl in the process. He paced on the catwalks anxiously as the door was pulled open by the good doctor. His heart fell more'n a bit when he saw Zoe and Fredesa step out. Not who he was waiting for. Not at all. She was out there somewhere, he knew it. River would have told him if she wasn't. He almost marched right back to his seat and continued brooding. "Sir?" Zoe said, above the howling that Hoban was putting up. He was currently flailing about in Fredesa's arms, a definite change for the proud, protective woman. She hadn't even let Mal touch the kid for months. "It's good to have you back, Zoe," Mal said, glancing past her toward the door, which the doctor was swinging closed. "I take it you're alone?" "I count three of us, sir," Zoe pointed out. "Why, are you waiting for somebody else?" Reynolds frowned, unable to look his first mate in the eye for a moment. "Yes. Yes we are. You and Fredesa get squared away." "Dell, sir," Zoe corrected.  
"Dell?"  
"Dell."  
Mal rolled his eyes. Of course, it wouldn't be his ship unless his crew was backtalkin' him. "Fine then, Dell it is. Zoe, you and Dell get yourselves squared away." The two went their separate ways, Fredesa... Dell, headed toward the passenger dorms, and Zoe to her bunk. At least that hadn't got complicated while he wasn't looking. Simon had a look in his eye when he came up, so Mal turned to face him in all his captainy glory. "Captain," the doctor began. "Waiting here isn't going to do us any good." "Well aware of the problems, doctor," Mal responded, "but until we get back the rest of this crew, we ain't budging an inch." "It's been more than a week since anybody saw them, and they were covered in boarding craft and following the Reavers. Even you have to accept the possibility that," Simon seemed to be gaining momentum, a phenomenon Mal really didn't want to deal with right now. He shut him down. "We ain't having this conversation," he said, voice forced into a semblence of mildness. "Ain't never, have my way. We'll wait till the food runs out, if we have to." "Interesting," Simon said. "Because our stockpile won't last a fortnight." The doctor walked past him, muttering a curse about foolish old men as he went. Mal watched him leave. He should just leave. Jayne weren't too big a loss. Hell, with him not around, they'd save hundreds in food, thousands in medical supplies, liquor and deals gone south. River might be a bit forelorn about it, what with the nutty way she been actin' of late, but the crew'd be better off on the whole. He tried to tell himself that, at least. He also tried to tell himself that without... her around, he'd be able to think clear, not get turned about all the damn time. But he couldn't even fool himself on that, and he had it on fairly good authority that he was a master at self delusion. Shrouded in a fog of worry and self-pity, Mal found himself on the bridge. River had taken to staying below unless he specifically called for her. Then, like as not, she'd appear out of Jayne's ruttin' room. He didn't feel like company right now, though. He dropped himself in the pilot's chair, staring down the plastic dinosaurs which still guarded the pilot from sudden but inevitable betrayals. He couldn't take it.  
Not again.  
Not anymore.  
With a roar of impotent frustration, he swept the figures onto the floor and threw himself back down into the chair, cradling his head in his hands. "Inara," he whispered. "Where are you?" <>  
Jacob lurched toward the latest sound of crashing and unpleasantness, supporting as much of the weight as he could on the crutch Friday had helpfully left in the infirmery. It still hurt to walk. Hell, it still hurt to breath, with that gorram fluff shot through him like caulking. Sometimes when he coughed hard enough, some of it came out. Which was more'n a mite unsettling. "I am not liking that sound, Zane," He yelled. Or rather, tried to. It was hard to get any sort of volume with a twitchy lung. "All's fine, boss," Zane said over his shoulder as he darted past the door. "Not to fret." Of course, Zane had to be lying. The gorram engine was on fire. That was not a thing which inspired confidence, seein' flames coming out of any part of the ship, especially the one which makes the ship go. "Zane?"  
"What, boss?"  
"Your engine's on fire," Zane cast a glance toward where Jacob pointed, started, and grabbed a fire extinguisher. "Fix it." "Jacob, bao bei, you shouldn't be up," Anne's concerned voice said behind him. He felt her trying to guide him back down the the infirmery, but he was too stir-crazy to stay there right now. He glanced at her, but she'd taken place at his right side. His blind side. "Ain't goin' back down there," Jacob said. "I just can't. Gotta be up and about. Pa always said the best way to cripple a man is let him recover too long." "Your father sounds like an interesting man," Anne said, now dragging him away from the engine room. "I'll have to meet my new inlaws sometime." "Meeting mine is about as likely as meeting yours," Jacob muttered. "Pa had a heart attack two years ago, and Ma got took by a stroke back near a decade." Anne frowned up at him. "Y'ain't never said anything about them before." "Didn't think it mattered. Where are we headed? Miranda?" Jacob asked. "Our path takes us well away from the Burnham quadrent," Anne said. "You're giving up?" his voice grew very tight and low. "You ain't listening," Anne said. "They ain't headed back to the planet. They's headed somewhere else." "Well, this is all kinds of fun," Jacob muttered. She tried to guide him down the stairs to the infirmery, but he momentumed his way into the kitchen, and from there into the fore-corridor. She still tugged at him, but she didn't want to hurt him. He was counting on that. Carefully, he lowered himself into the copilot's seat, wincing as the wound twisted a mite. Gorram if that didn't hurt still, after a whole week. He'd love to get Friday back on his boat. That'd fix him up. Getting Sylvia back, though, would be better. Finally realizing she wasn't getting him back into the infirmery, Anne surrendered and sat herself down in her seat, fixing him with a hot glare. "This ain't makin' a touch of difference." "Anne."  
"Common sense, bao bei," she said softly. "Them's got took by Reavers either die or are better off that way. She's gone, Jacob." Jacob locked his eye onto hers. "She's not gone. Not until I say she is." "You wantin' don't make it happen," she said quietly. "Why are you fightin' so hard for her?" "She's a part of my crew," Jacob said simply. Anne's look became distant. "And if it was me?" she asked.  
"Never gonna happen."  
"If it was me?" she asked again. Jacob sighed, staring off into the black. "If it was you, ain't a power in the 'Verse'd stop me from finding you." Zane appeared then, looking a bit scorched and a bit sad. "Boss," said he, "we've got a problem." "Don't want to hear problems, Zane. What I want is to hear solutions. Get that engine turning. Get us moving." "Not going to happen, boss," Zane shrugged. "We've been runnin' ragged on an engine that had a Reaver monkeywrench tossed into it. It was just a matter of time before it quit. And sure picked a sweet bung of a spot to quit, didn't it?" "It's not a Capissen 38, is it?" Jacob asked. "No."  
"Then you can fix it, so ruttin' fix it!" he shouted, then succumbed to a fit of painful coughing. "Anne?" Zane implored, but she shook her head. "Look, boss, when I say ain't gonna happen, I really do mean it. The primary grav-couple housing's up and shattered. Without that, we're runnin' on reaction drive only, and that won't barely even outrun one of the shuttles." "Replace it, then," Jacob coughed up another red and white glob. "Use them parts we picked up after Liann Juin." "Da-shiong bao jah shr duh lah du-tze, you're not listening to me," Zane finally shouted. "The housing's damn near the only custom piece this ship's got. Ain't nobody but another Firefly'd have one. Only way we're gettin' another is if another Firefly just happens to come along, or if I make one m'self." "Then make one!" Jacob ordered, forcing himself to his feet. "I intend to run down those bungers. I intend to get back my crew, the way it was. And I ain't havin' that coasting in the Black, dohn luh muh?" "Fine," Zane said loudly.  
"Fine!" Jacob shouted back. His voice left him after that, so his next words came out quiet and gravely. "Get to work." Zane cast one more glance back, somewhat hurt, it looked like, and vanished back into the ship. Jacob lowered himself back into the seat. Anne dropped herself on his knees, facing him. "What the hell?"  
"So you don't get up again and do something stupid," she explained. Her eyes were beginning to glimmer. "I thought I was losing you, back there. I don't want that. If that means I have to hold you down, I will." "Ain't leavin' you in this world, bao bei," he whispered, his throat still achin' him somethin' fierce. "Ain't never gonna." She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him tight. He struggled to hold back a hiss of pain as her admittedly meager weight pressed against his injury. Her fingers began to bite into his shoulder blades, the way she did when she was sleeping. "I was just... so afraid I was going to lose you." "Not in this 'Verse, ki zi, not in this 'Verse." She remained in that position a good long time, simply clutching herself to him and trembling. Her head was buried against his shoulder as she shook. Was she crying? He couldn't tell. She wasn't one for weeping, usually, but once she started, she had a tendency to go on for a while. There were a lot of tears stored up in that little frame. "Oh, I'm sorry, I just thought," Inara said as she noticed the two. "What is it?" Jacob asked as if nothing were out of the ordinary. She didn't seem to need to be pushed further, making him wonder if the crew over on Serenity got grapply or weepy more often than he gave them credence for. "I heard from Zane that you were up and about. Which, by the way, I disapprove of." "If I wanted a medical opinion, I'd talk to a doctor," he said. "What are you here about?" The Companion sighed. "You have to accept the possibility that Sylvia might be dead." "Why does everybody think I need to hear that today?" he asked, eye hard and sharp on Serra's own. "She's alive. I know it, and more important your own pilot, River, knows it." "Oh, yes," she scoffed. "Let's bring that little vision of River into this, shall we? A vision that tells you exactly what you want to hear, that none of the rest of us, conveniently enough, can't see." "Jayne seen it, too," Jacob pointed out. "Jayne," she began, and found herself caught between entirely too many negative things to say, and not enough time her natural lifetime in which to say them. "Jayne is a fool." "Shouldn't be talkin' 'bout folk behind their backs," the mercenary said as he entered the cockpit. "Might hurt their feelin's." "We both know you don't have feelings," Inara snapped. Jayne scowled. "I didn't come here lookin' for a fight," he retorted. He then seemed to notice the position Anne had taken. "What in the hell's she doin'? Shouldn't you to be doin' that in yer bunk?" "Does this disturb you?" Jacob asked flatly. "More'n a little."  
Jacob rolled his eye. "What's this about, Jayne?" "Done cut the last of them things loose. Patched up the hull, too. Weren't easy with the li'l 'un flyin' us so crazy." "Might want to watch your tone around my wife," Jacob pointed out. "What's next?" Inara asked.  
"We're dead in the water 'till Zane fixes up a part. Till then, ain't really nothin' to do," Jacob said quietly. "Shiny," Jayne muttered. "I'll be in my bunk." "You don't have a bunk," Inara said. Jayne paused in his turn. "Right," he said slowly. "You know where I'll be." As the last of them left the room, Jacob shifted his weight, drawing another spike of pain from his chest, to get a look at his wife. She was crying, eyes shut as she sobbed. He wondered if she was even aware of what was happening around her. Sometimes, when she lost control of one thing, a lot of other things went buggy too. "Anne?" he asked. She tilted her head to glance at him. Her cheeks were quite damp. "I'm sorry," she said. "I just..."  
"Don't ever apologize," Jacob said softly. "It doesn't matter what you do. I'll be here for you. It's what I signed up for," he grinned somewhat. "I accepted you, strangeness and all, four years back when we started sharing a bed. Have I ever asked why you get clingy when you go to sleep?" "I do not get clingy," she protested.  
"Oh, you most certainly do."  
She smiled then, a weak, uncertain smile, but a smile nonetheless. She rested her cheek against his shoulder. "Do not." "Boss, I can f..." Zane announced as he charged up onto the bridge. Then, he saw the pair of them in their crippled embrace and hesitated, making as if to leave. "I ain't cuttin' in on a moment here, am I? "Life is but a series of moments, Zane," Jacob recited. "What is it?" "I can rig up somethin' that'll work like a grav-couple housing, but it won't last long. Might only take us out the day, might last us a week. Sure as hell won't run for a month, though." "If it'll work rig it up," Jacob said.  
"Here's the kicker. Full burn is out of the question. We try pipin' more juice through this thing than one hundred percent, it'll fry faster than you can say... don't full burn or the thing'll... fry..." "Then do it. I'll take whatever you can give. How long to rig this up." "It'll take the rest of the day, at least," Zane said. Jacob sighed. "Then get started," every hour they spent coasting along was an hour that they were getting farther away. As the mechanic left the cockpit, Jacob found himself running his fingers along Anne's short, curling hair. He tried to remember a time when things was simple. <>  
Kaylee frowned at Mal as he stared bleakly at the slim fare which had been set before him. As edible as it looked, he didn't have the slightest inclination to touch it. He knew that no matter how good a cook that Friday was, it'd just taste like ashes. Weren't much left to him, nowadays. "Captain?" Kaylee said quietly. "Y'ain't touched your dinner." Mal gave her a level glance.  
"Looks awful tasty!" she said with a hopeful smile. Mal didn't even look up. "You should eat," Simon said in the breach. "Starvation might take days to set in, but malnutrition can make it difficult to..." "Simon," the other doctor's voice sounded, smooth and sensual. "I ain't exactly what you'd call couth, but that ain't proper dinner conversation." "We're tryin' to get him to eat," Kaylee whispered, more than a bit too loud to be confidencial. Friday frowned, pulling off the slim spectacles and frowning at the captain for a moment. "If you don't eat," Friday said. "You'll get stupid. You get stupid, you won't find her." Mal frowned at her, but still couldn't bring himself to eat. The doctors both shook their heads in almost the exact same disdainful way. The crew exodused around him, leaving him staring at the admittedly somewhat attractive dinner the other doc had whipped up. It also marked the last of the canned food. Now, all they had left was protein in all the colors of the rainbow and that scum in the water-purifiers. "Sir?" the no-nonsense voice that had stood beside him for entirely too long to be ignored. He looked up, seeing Zoe staring down at him with a more than slightly unimpressed look on her face. "What is it?"  
"Are you really going to do something this stupid, sir?" Zoe asked. "Stupid?"  
"Yes, stupid. As in where you stop eating because someone you care about isn't around." "I don't think we ought be havin' this conversation," Malcolm said. Of course, that was when Zoe caught his shirt and hauled him to his feet, then pitched him forward into his dinner. "Gorramit, woman, what in the hell're y'doing?" "If you don't want to eat, I'll shove it down your rutting throat, sir," she said flatly. "Trust me, I've gained a lot of experience feeding uncooperative infants." Malcolm struggled for a moment, but even with a kid on the ground, she was still more than able to manhandle him. "Fine, I'll eat. Just let go of my gorram neck." Zoe let him flop back into his seat and pick off the vegetables which had become stuck to his face. "You didn't need to do that," he muttered. "Yes, I surely did, sir." her back was still perfectly straight, but there was a sense of her loosening. It was something she only did around two men that Mal could remember, and he was one of them. "Sir, I know what this is about." "I surely think you don't."  
Her face went blank. "We were both there. We got chewed up and spat out. I didn't have much keepin' me going. Then you brought that annoying pilot with his plastic dinosaurs, which I noticed you spread out onto the floor, and I found myself a husband. We got tore up plenty again after Miranda, and I lost my mister. Things got bleak. But I'm still here. I've lost more than any-damn-body on this ship. I lost my family twice, lost my man, near lost Hoban, but I'm still here. So are you. You didn't die in Serenity Valley, sir, so stop the hell actin' like you did." Mal stared his first mate in the eye for a long moment. "Is that all?" "For now, sir."  
"Well," he said, picking the last of the food from his mug. "I'll just finish my dinner then. Y'ought maybe be seein' to that rugrat of yours." "Just maybe ought, sir," she said, waiting until he'd actually bitten into something before leaving. Friday brushed past her in the other direction. Mal noticed she was carrying a guitar with her as she dropped herself down in the puffy chair. Mal must have been giving a what-the-hell look, 'cause she slid them glasses back up onto her nose and smiled at him. He was shocked at how much it reminded him of Inara, despite the fact that the two women had only the barest resemblence. "I've got to keep practicing, don't want to get rusty," she said, tuning her instrument. "Got any requests?" "Not as such, no."  
Friday plucked a few experimental strings, then glanced off pensively. "I've got one. Writ by a soldier from the Valley." she began to strum the chords of a tune he felt he'd heard before, a song which was a part of him. "Take my love, take my land, take me where I cannot stand," she sang, her voice ringing clean and clear throughout the closed space. "I don't care, I'm still free, 'cause you can't take the sky for me. Take me out into the black, tell 'em I ain't comin' back. Burn the land, and boil the sea: you can't take the sky from me. Take your war, I've found my peace, to soar where I find my release. You lock me up, but I'm still free, 'cause you can't take the sky from me. No one place that I can be, since I seen Serenity. You can't take the sky from me, no, you can't take the sky from me." As she continued to strum, Mal glanced over his shoulder, spying River standing at the theshold of the fore-corridor. She was draped in Jayne's Fighting Elves shirt, and her hair was in even more marked disarray than usual. Feet, as they often were, bare. He stared. She stared back. At long last, she nodded slowly. "I'll set a course," she whispered between the notes. <>  
"So," Inara said, breaking into the long, awkward silence that had invaded the dinner table. It had been almost a week since Zane's little mishap with the engines that sent them limping on their ways. Each day saw the crew getting more and more pessimistic about their captain's plan. The man ate his meal mechanically, despite the surprising quality of it. "How about something to dispel the mood?" "What've you got in mind?" Zane asked, instantly chipper. "Tell me," she swept her dark, penetrating eyes around the table, "what you find most attractive in a mate." "The eyes! No, the nose," Zane said. "Wait, that's not it... you know that spot on a woman's lower back? Just above the pi gu?" She tried to focus the cycle the other direction, simply to avoid Jayne being next, but he stomped right into the spot, conversationally speaking, without hesitation. "Soft lips," Jayne said, sprawing a bit of food onto the table in the process. Inara looked a bit surprised by his answer. "I thought you never kissed them on the lips?" she asked. "I don't," he said, a lascivious grin on his face. "Ugh. Remind me never to talk to you again," Inara grunted. "Anne?" "Weight," she said, staring at Jacob.  
"Excuse me?"  
"Solidity, substance. If you got that, you can fall asleep and know that they'll still be there in the morning." Inara nodded to concede the point. There was certainly something to be said for not waking up alone. Some of her clients paid extra to be cuddled. A great many more simply walked away, which made very little sense to her. "And what about you?" she asked the captain. His gaze swung from his wife to his passenger. "The ability to look a man in the eye and say 'no, and no amount of money will change that'." Jayne burst into raucous, messy laughter, almost falling out of his seat. Zane looked at the mercenary next to him for a moment. "Did I miss something?" he asked. "That's almost 'xactly what Mal said when she asked that," Jayne managed to say between guffaws. While he was snickering, he seemed to have his attention diverted to the currently empty nook. Inara simply shook her head beautifically. "I was refering to physical attraction," she said softly. "Oh, well then," Jacob pondered for a moment. "Nothing." "Excuse me?"  
"Physical attraction is learned. Before I met my dearly beloved, I had a set of physical cues which got me all hot and bothered, and not a one of them is shared by my Anne," he placed his hand on her far shoulder and drew her toward him. "However, in the time since, everything I find attractive is in her. The height, the weight, the skin, the hair, the eyes. It's all secondary to what's under 'em." "Well," Inara muttered. "That's somewhat romantic." "Ah hell," Jayne muttered, his face shining with terror. Jacob stared at the mercenary for a long moment. From what he'd heard, there was only one thing the man feared. "What is it?" Jacob asked, his question ending just as the proximity alarms began to call from the cockpit. Usually, since the sensors were so damn powerful on this ship, they didn't start up till somethin' was damn near at spittin' distance. Out here, Anne had rigged them to start singin' the instant anything popped onto the screen, at any distance. She'd pulled free and ran up into her domain in a heartbeat. Jacob followed a few steps behind, leaning over her shoulder as she interpreted the readings the ship was feeding her. "What is it?" he asked quietly, knowing full well that there weren't nothing else this far out. Even though they'd been headed in a direction markedly not toward Miranda for a hell of a while, by which he meant. "Hold on," she muttered, her face deapan as she concentrated. "All I'm reading right now is moving metal. Could just be a rogue comet." "Then why's Jayne actin' like we're about to get hit by..." "Reavers!" she shouted, turning in her chair. "Zane, get your skinny ass up here!" "Anne?" he said.  
"We've got a pair of Crabs coming from dead forward," she growled as she readied Legacy for whatever they needed of her. "We gettin' Reavers?" Jayne's booming voice sounded from the back of the cockpit, sounding more that of a child than the foul-mouthed mercenary it belonged to. A glance back showed he'd already gotten his weapons. "River?" Jacob asked. Jayne nodded.  
"Will somebody get this rou di-duo mao di kiang out of my way?" Zane muttered, having to sqeeze himself between Jayne and the doorframe. "Reavers?" Anne nodded. "Where are they?" Jacob asked, staring off into the Black. He couldn't see anything. "They're a ways out. Zane?"  
"Ready," He said, seating himself in the 'gunners' chair. "Where they at?" the mercenary muttered. There was a brutal silence as the 'Verse collapsed to about ten square feet. "There!" she shouted as the first of them was hit by the light she'd started swinging around. Two of them, bearing right down on them; 'Crab' landing craft. Those things'd ram the ship, dig in with their claws, and dump their cargo of Reavers inside. Legacy was already tore up plenty from her last run in with Crabs. "I've got it," Zane muttered, eyes locked forward. He let out a laugh as the missile shot free of its launcher, streaking through the black toward the closer of the Crabs. It was about to strike when the craft jerked away, letting the thing streak past it. As the missile tried to loop back around, it slammed directly into the second. "That was... lucky," Anne muttered. The Crab began to drift erratically, and the one which had dodged the attack looped back around, headed back toward its wounded fellow. Another contrail reached out into the void, still streaking toward the first. This time, its target dropped itself behind the already wounded craft and halted, sacrificing the debilitated craft. As the ship began to drift apart, the remaining Crab thrust straight at them. Anne drew the craft away, setting the ship into overburn and throwing everybody not holding onto something into the back wall. "What's the plan?" Jacob asked, holding his chest where the wound tore at him from his wife's mad maneuvering. "Sometimes," she said with an odd smile, "you gotta roll a hard six." Jayne frowned. "What th'hell's a hard six?" "Y'all better hold onto somethin'," Anne said, which was all the warning she gave before flicking some switches and sawing at the controls. The ship lurched painfully, metal screaming as it was stressed beyond tolerance. A loud bang sounded from the engine room, no doubt Zane's replacement part quitting with great gusto, and the stars spun in front of the ship. Finally, when the ship, and Jacob's head, for that matter, stopped spinning, the Crab was directly in front the ship. Zane didn't hesitate for a second, letting fly another missile. That's when the damndest thing happened. The gorram missile exploded early, hittin' nothing but Black. The Crab streaked past it, latching itself to the spine of the now crippled ship. Zane leapt up from his seat, sprinting past the wretched sounds of tearing metal and to his engines. Jacob dragged the hulking mercenary down the corridor and pointed his Mauser at the hole which had been torn into the cieling of the kitchen. The shrieking stopped. And they waited.  
"Not that I ain't relieved," Jayne said, staring down a particularly large rifle, "but ain't them supposed to be comin' on?" The hole remained. Vacant. Jacob loped painfully to the side of the table and looked up, trying to gain a glimpse of what could be inside. That was when the black blur dropped out, landing awkwardly on the table. Jayne had the gun pointed at the figure in a moment, but Jacob swatted the weapon away as he beheld a pair of blue-green eyes staring out of a blood-coated face. "Syl?" he asked. Her clothes had been shredded badly, and no small amount of that blood appeared to be hers. Her eyes flit around the room, and her lips writhed. Her hand, scarlet from fingertips to elbow, where her clothing extended no further, reached up toward him. "H...H..." Jacob leaned closer. Sylvia's hand pressed against his cheek. "Home." "Son of a bitch!" Jayne muttered, and Sylvia's eyes rolled back and her brutalized form became limp. <>  
It had been a week since they'd left the rendezvous point. Seven days. One hundred sixty eight hours, give or take a few. Every damn one of them felt like an eternity. He hadn't asked the li'l albatross where she had him headed. With Zoe and F...Dell on board, weren't no reason to go back to Paquin and Brownlee's. He'd spent most of his time below decks. In the cargo bay, when it was dark, in his bunk when it weren't. Just couldn't face down them newlyweds, all happy and such, mood he was in. It didn't seem right for everything to be going right for everybody but... not him, he guessed. Things never went smooth for him and he didn't expect that'd ever change. Still, every second he spent flying through the Black felt like another second he'd abandoned her. River wouldn't even talk to him anymore, and she didn't look too good. Like she hadn't had any sleep in a week. She wouldn't talk to anybody, but she always seemed to be muttering, always too low for anyone to hear. Zoe tried to confront him again, but with his door locked, all she could do was call him an idiot and wait. She must have given up at some point, 'cause when he went up for something to nibble on, she was nowhere to be found. He hadn't taken much, yesterday, but he still hadn't gotten around to finishing it. He just wasn't hungry. He was so far beyond desparation that he was willing to sell his soul, had he believed he had one, or a convenient forum at which to sell it. Having nothing else he could do, Malcolm Reynolds tried something he hadn't done in years. Malcolm Reynolds got down and prayed.  
He had drifted off at some point during this last, most desparate ploy, his head coming to rest on his bed and everything else on the floor. The hiss of the door becoming unlocked pulled him back into conciousness. "Gorram it, Zoe, I ain't in any sort of mood for this right now," he growled, leaving his head against the mattress. The sounds of boots falling against the ladder vexed him. He grumbled again. "For the last time, I," he said, pulling his head off the mattress and rising to his feet. Suddenly, he felt all the words falling away. <>  
Jayne stared at the door as the shuttle locked into place. Looked like it were the middle of the night on Serenity, and was about as good a time to show up as any. Christmas present, River had said. Well, smack him around if it weren't Christmas Eve. The captain a' Legacy, that Greyson fella, had taken the duty of runnin' the two of them back to their home. He weren't too bad a fella, Jayne thought. Not nearly as crotchety as Mal, didn't have nearly the problems with the womanfolk. More'n welcome a change to that damn tension Mal and 'Nara always seemed to throwin' around. Inara pulled the door open, glidin' through in one of Jacob's doc's robes, confrontin' the woman herself what owned the robe. Friday, her name was, smiled as she beheld the two of them, and beyond them, Jacob. The Asian woman leaned in close to Inara, whisperin' something Jayne couldn't quite catch. She also slipped something into the Companion's hand, paper, looked like. Jayne frowned. Not worth thinkin' on. "Well, this is your stop," Jacob said slowly, still favorin' that hurt in his chest. Jayne couldn't rightly blame him. Closest he ever got to somethin' like that was when the crazy one came at him with a butcher knife. Jacob stared at the merc, makin' him all manner of uncomfortable for a while. "She might not be all there," Greyson said quietly, more'n like just between the two of them. "But she don't have to be." Jayne glared at the smaller man. Jacob smiled disarmingly. "Pa always said I shoulda been a shrink. Don't be a stranger, mister Cobb." Jayne was shaking his head as he went out the door. He made it about four steps on the catwalk before he got hit by a flying weight. A little flying weight with arms and legs. And long, black hair. He felt another mouth pressed against his own, and he struggled a bit to shrug her off. Weren't no good, though. She had him good. Finally, when she was done, River pulled back with a beaming smile. "What the hell?" he asked loudly. Without breaking eye contact, the little girl... little woman, he guessed... pointed straight up. "Mistletoe," she said brightly. And damn it if there weren't a sprig of that crap right above their heads when he looked up. Appearantly sated, she let go and skipped away, leaving one very baffled mercenary staring after her. Inara also stared after the young pilot, possibly every bit as confusticated as he was. "I didn't," Jayne began.  
"Just," she responded, "too insane... to be your fault." Jayne nodded in agreement. Doc might say she was on the mend, but that girl was gettin' more feng kuang every time he looked at her. The shuttle was already liftin' off, Jacob and his doc in tow as they headed back to their ship what done parked a short ways off, and Jayne shuffled the confused Companion out in front of him. Just as they reached the top of the stairs, River's head popped around the corner. "Captain wants you," she said to Inara. "What does he want?" she asked, somewhat miffed soundin'. "Captain wants you," she said again, not seemin' to understand why Inara didn't get it. "Go to him." Inara rolled her eyes and glided past the pilot, no doubt on her way to trade words with that contrary capt'n. Now, though, River was staring right at him. "What?" he demanded. She just stared at him and smiled that little, creepifyin' smile. "I ain't gettin' you a Christmas present." "You already did," she responded. Jayne grunted, not feelin' like dealin' with this right now. As he pushed past the li'l 'un, he growled to nobody in particular. "I'll be in my bunk."  
<>  
"River said you wanted me?" Inara said as she beheld the confounded looking Mal standing in front of his bunk. He was, she was surprised to see, stripped to the waist, and had a from his mattress pressed into his forehead. He just stared at her. "Well," she began. "I've been aboard five minutes and you haven't called me a whore yet. That must be a new record. Whatever it is you want, I assure, you, I can explain." Mal blinked, standing unsteadily in the middle of his room. "I believed in the Alliance, Mal. I always did. I never questioned what they were doing to make my life the way it was. But since... then... I haven't been able to... Back on Osiris, that girl was being... She made me so angry, and I just... I hit her." Mal didn't offer his opinion. "I know, you keep saying that one should never hit another with a closed fist, however hilarious it is. That's what tipped the scales. I had to do this, Mal. I had to be on the right side, instead of the winning one." She paused for a moment. "Mal?"  
He hadn't said a word since he caught sight of her, just stared at her. Staring, and smiling. She wasn't sure whether he scooped her up or she leapt into his arms, but before she knew it, their lips were locked and she felt the 'Verse disappearing around her. All that remained was the two of them. She felt herself being placed, oh so gently, on the tiny cot against the wall of the room. "Wait," she said, pushing Mal away for a moment. "What does this mean?" Something happened to Mal's eyes, a fire that had burned so bright and so hot, doused. His smile dropped away and he stood up. "I don't know," he said despondently. She grabbed his arm and pulled him back down beside her, an act a great deal easier than she thought it would be. She caught his chin between her fingers and stared into those eyes. "Good answer," she said, kissing him again. She broke away for a moment. "Just promise me one thing." "What is it?" he asked.  
"No pirate jokes."  
Mal smiled very wide as she undid the belt to her robe. "Yarr," he said. It was the last word he said for a very long time. <>  
"That'll do you," Friday said, pulling the stitches closed on his wounded chest. "Should be right as rain in no time flat." Jacob nodded gravely. He pulled his shirt down over the wound and stared out onto the slab, to where Sylvia had been laid out. Since she had literally dropped in on them, she hadn't regained consciousness. When they'd cleaned her off, they discovered she had taken very few wounds during her stay. "What about her?" he asked.  
"Excuse me?" she muttered.  
"Sylvia. Have you figured out what's wrong with her?" "Not yet," Friday said. "It's a good thing you saved her stomach contents, though. I found these." She slid the pan toward him, and he looked inside. "Ai ya, tyen ah," he whispered as the partially digested human fingers rolled in the pan. He looked back at his friend, laid out and looking so helpless. If he was right, she was anything but. Never before had he hoped more that he was wrong. "What?" she asked, putting the last of her things away. "Don't leave her alone, not ever. Tie her down," he said. "Take everything sharp or pointed out of this room, and lock it when you leave." "This is insane," Friday said. "You're making her sound like a..." "Reaver," Jacob finished grimly. "She spent fourteen days endurin' what drives the strongest insane inside four hours. Ain't got any proper idea what's going to be greeting us when she wakes up." "Boss?" came Zane's voice from behind him. "What is it?"  
"Legacy's hurtin' bad. We've got to get some place to patch her up," the mechanic answered. "Ain't no place anywhere near here," Jacob swore. "Not quite, boss," Zane interjected. "There's Mister Universe." "Zane, that place is abandoned."  
"I wouldn't offer it if I didn't know what I was talkin' 'bout, boss." Jacob sighed. "Tell Anne where to fly," he said, suddenly feeling very exhausted. "You should get some rest, Jacob," Friday said gently. Jacob nodded. "You know," he whispered, pulling out his gun, "I really should." 

A Question of Sins 

"We close enough now?" Jacob asked. The mechanic nodded, and the captain flicked on a screen in front of the pilot's chair. Or at least, he tried to. "Why the hell won't this thing turn on?" he asked his wife and pilot, who was lounging in the mentioned chair staring up toward him. She smiled a bit with a shrug. "I had them disconnected," she said simply. "Now why in the hell would you do that?" he asked gently. "Mayhaps I don't like the idea of folk watchin' me when I'm flyin'. Or when we're finding other uses for this chair." "Oh, God, make it stop," Zane feigned disgust. He flipped a few switches on the copilot's seat, and waved the captain over. The Cortex screen flickered own, showing a middle aged gentleman with bright eyes and hair just beginning to get shot through with grey. Despite the physical symptoms of age, the way he grinned as the screen popped on made him seem Zane's age. "Zane!" the man shouted. "Can't say I expected to see you again, after that last business." "We both came out alive. Well, except for that bottle they broke 'cross your head," Zane laughed. "Hey, that really hurt. Weren't like you got much better. If I recall, there were pool cues..." the man responded gamely. "Zane?" Jacob asked. "What the hell?"  
"Oh, right," Zane said. "This is Jacob Greyson, captain of this little boat." "Yeah, noticed you were callin' a mite closer than any planet," the man's gaze flit around, as if taking in feeds from other screens. "I told you you'd never last long on the ground, and Jiangyin's about as grounded as a fella can get. What kinda ship is she?" "Firefly. More'n a bit banged up, though. Thinkin' we should be spending some time on Ion patchin' our hurt," the man nodded, staring at something else above the camera that was recording his image. Finally, the man turned and shouted to something in the background. "Fi! Feed that IFF into the FCS," he shouted. "Don't want the autoguns knockin' you out of the sky, I think?" "Fi?" Jacob asked. "I'm still waitin' on hearing who the hell you are." "Ain't it obvious?" the man said, spreading his arms. "I'm Mister Universe." "Mister Universe is dead," Jacob pointed out. "Mister Universe can't never die," the man laughed. "Can't stop the signal, and where there's a signal, there's Mr. Universe," Jacob and Zane shared a look. "Hey, don't make faces." "So," Jacob declared. "You've moved in and set up shop?" "Could say that. By now you should be reading the Ion Cloud. It'll play merry hob with your sensors, but pretty pretty lights and a few miles later you'll be on our doorstep. Patch your hurt, you said?" he asked. "We're kinda bleedin' out the ears," Zane admitted. Mr. Universe leaned away from the camera gain. "Bao bei, wake up that lazy-ass brother of Fi's and tell him we got a job for him," he yelled. "How many a' y'all are down there?" Jacob asked. "Me and the miss, Fi and her brother."  
"Mister Universe worked alone," Jacob said. "I ain't him," the current Mr. Universe said sadly. "I'll see you when you hit the planet." "Wait, where the hell on the planet are we supposed to go? This ain't exactly the biggest moon we ever saw, but still." "Just follow the Fruity Oaty Bar in," he said with a grin. As soon as the words were gone, the commercial began. "Fruity Oaty Bars, make a man out of a mouse," it cheerfully belted, and Jacob stared close at the screen. Nearly the same color as the insane background was a set of coordinates. "Shoot that over to Anne," he said, walking to her console, which caught the thing right as the squid made its appearance. "Eat them all the time, let us blow your mind!" it continued. Jacob shook his head. He never understood what these folk were thinkin' making a commercial that was so unforgivably odd. Jingle was catchy as hell, though. That there was utter cruelty. "You catch that?" Jacob asked. Anne grinned almost childishly. She turned to the mechanic. "Play it again!" Jacob rubbed his eye as that damned tune started playing again. <>  
Mister Universe didn't usually get visitors. Sure, he did get a lot of requests for information, or help hacking a system, but when it came to meeting folk, he didn't get much of a chance to hone his skills. So when that ship made its fairly ungraceful landing on his hidden landing pad, looking no small bit tore up, he was itching to see some new faces. Miss Universe was as always by his side. She didn't completely understand her husband's obsession with 'the signal', but she'd sworn to stand by her man. He'd already been there while they raised their children into adulthood. Now, by her estimation, he was retired. That, she could understand. The ramp slid down part of the way, but jammed, forcing its occupants to crawl out around the edge. When they finally dropped to the ground, Mister Universe took his first step toward them. Most of them looked more'n a little banged up themselves. The captain, Greyson by name, clutched at a spot on his chest, and Zane had a bruise, nearly gone, just above his left ear. The crew, limping though it was, made their way to him, Zane outstripping all of them with his long, ground eating strides. When the two men met, both paused. Not exactly sure how to progress, he warrented. "It's good to see you again, Zane," Mister Universe said, extending his hand. Zane grinned and accepted it. "Likewise, Verne," the mechanic said, before turning to the older man's wife. "And Shelley, ain't seen you in a dog's life." "Zane?" Mister Universe muttered.  
"Shuh muh?"  
"Why'd you go and do that?" he asked.  
"Do what?"  
"Tell them my name?"  
The mechanic laughed. By this point, Greyson finally made his way to where the two had met in the middle. "Boss here thinks you could do with a head-deflatin', so deflate your head I do." "Verne," Greyson said with a deadpan face. "Look what you've done," Verne muttered. "I have a reputation to keep, you know?" "Cole still workin' for you?" Zane asked, looping his arm around the shorter man's shoulders. "Of course!" Verne "Couldn't run this place without him and his sister." "His sister," Zane smiled distantly. "You're gonna have to introduce us. Don't think I've met her yet." "Look," Verne interrupted. "We may be friends, but I can't just wave my hands and repair your ship. It's not exactly cheap just running this little operation, and I don't have nearly the skill at tapping accounts as the last Mister Universe did." "Won't be a problem," Jacob said. "We've got a good deal of right cashy money coming our way and coming quick." "Hate to say it, though," Verne muttered. "That ship doesn't look like it's worth saving. I can get you a great deal on a Dragonfly, though. Great engine, low mileage..." "Cost ain't exactly an object," Jacob said. "Whatever it takes, point of fact." Mister Universe shook his head. "I never could understand why some get so attached to their ship." "They get attached out of love," Zane said. "Love keeps a ship in the air. And you not havin' none for yours is what dropped her on that mu yi di nao tan keh moon four years back." Verne scowled. "I thought you didn't know Chinese?" "Had to pick it up sometime."  
He shook his head. "Fine. Anything else I can get you? A first class ticket on the El Dorado? A signed Ace of Spades from Jack Leland? Cargohold full of cattle?" "Actually," Jacob said, keeping up despite his obvious pain. "We need you to send a Wave to Logan Kell. He's got one of our crew on his ship, as well as the cashy money I done spoke on." Verne glanced at his wife, and his hands twitched in quiet sign language to her. "You haven't weighed in on this, Shelley. What's your opinion?" His wife, born deaf, looked back at him. "I wasn't paying attention. It is company though," she signed back. "I do miss having company." <>  
It was a boring job. There were no two ways about that. Every day, he'd come in to work, make sure everything was the same place it was the day before, and walk out having done nothing of any note whatsoever. It was stable, and safer than any job he could think of, but by God it was dull. Mostly, he spent the time writing. He wasn't a professional, by any stretch of the imagination, but in a job like this, one had a lot of free time, and not much else to fill it with. The New Paris depository wasn't exactly the most exciting place to be. Neither, in point of fact, was Bernadette on whole, but the Rim Yokels never seemed to tire of goggling at the Prometheus, or wandering New Paris' somewhat meager promanades. Despite being deeper in the Core than any planet in the system, Bernadette felt entirely too much like a Border world. One particular line was snagging at him. A line of dialogue between his two protagonists, now at each other's throats. He couldn't quite figure out how to make the exchange seem brutal and unrehearsed. His wife said sometimes he made people say things they couldn't think of in the situations he put them in. She knew what she was talking about, he admitted, but he didn't want his characters yehawing and ain'ting like some backwater rube. It just wasn't civilized. Samuel got up from his station and went back into the kitchen to dump out the now cold coffee and pour himself another mug. The machine was near empty, so he took the time to brew up an entirely new batch. In his head, he kept running through lines, possibilities. Something that would be noble, yet spontaneous. He wracked his brain as the coffee percolated, but nothing came. Nothing his wife would agree to, anyway. Finally, he poured himself a mug of fresh coffee and took a sip. That was one of the few good things about this job: working for the Parliment meant he didn't have to put up with the Blue Sun brand Coffee. Yes, it was coffee, but that was it. This place shelled out for the premium blends, things more of his taste. He smiled a bit, and returned back down that long corridor to his lonely workplace. When he pushed the door open, he almost dropped his cup. An Asian man was sitting on the corner of Samuel's desk, fingers lightly pressing on a DataBook that had been removed from its niche. Near him, a tall, lithe blonde woman was running her eyes along the wall from which it had been retrieved. She was fully dressed, and well dressed besides, but he had to actively coach his brain away from uncivil thoughts. "Excuse me?" Samuel said. "Can I help you?" "That depends," the Asian man said. "It depends on whether you know what we want to." "I'm sorry," Samuel said. Three weeks without a single visitor, and now two. And both more than a touch unsettling, in his humble opinion. "You shouldn't be in here without clearance." The blonde turned to him, brushing a strand of her short hair away from her eye and stared at him. Samuel swollowed. "Unless," he stammered, "of course, you do have clearance?" The Asian man nodded, speaking flatly. "Right of you to ask." He turned Samuel's own monitor around to face him, and pressed his fingertips on the biometric scanner. The transparent cubes spun and melted, showing the parlamentary logo. "Full Parliamental Override," it read.  
"What does that... Oh," Samuel's eyes grew wide as he beheld the woman sashaying over and placing her own fingertips on the screen. The cubes resolved into the same logo, with the same three confusing words. "Full Parliamental Override."  
"Of course," Samuel stammered. "Operatives of the Parliament will have my full cooperation. I don't understand why you would be here, though. There's nothing of..." "That is for us to decide," the Asian man cut in, without raising his eyes from the DataBook. "It doesn't list your rank," Samuel said. "We do not have any. Like this depository, we do not exist," the woman purred. She really did make it hard for him to hold in the naughty thoughts. "Then I take it that these names are?" Samuel began. "False," the one listed as Johnathan said. "However, you are use them. That is their purpose." "Fine then... ah... John. Could you explain your presence here?" he asked falteringly. It didn't help that the one listed as Janet began to circle him, trailing a black-painted nail across his narrow shoulders. "You are aware of the lapse in security that occured at this site nine years ago?" John minced no words, his dark eyes drilling holes into Samuel. The librarian swallowed. He had been afraid something would happen about that, but he didn't ever expect that it would take this long. Or come in this form. He was so... so very fired. "Yes, I am," he said simply.  
John rose to his feet, running a thumb along the neatly trimmed beard on his jaw. "During the height of the Unification War, a group of spies infiltrated this site and stole documentation regarding the Alliance's force disposition and armament. Were you not the custodian at that time?" John's last sentence, though delivered in his same monotone, struck Samuel by surprise. Busted. "I... ah... I was," he said. No use lying to this man. Especially with that odd woman at his back. He could feel her nails tickling the back of his neck. Operatives had a way of knowing when a man was lying. "Hm." John said. "I believe we have that... Janet? Janet!" Samuel heard a disappointed sigh from behind him, and she sashayed her way back to the desk, opening up a long breifcase which John seemed to have placed there. She pulled out something long and cylindrical, a portable holo-emitter. She placed it on the ground in the dead center of the room. "Please, stand clear of the projection," John said, waiting just long enough for Jane to seat herself on the desk before activating the thing. The emitter let out a quiet hum and the door was now standing ajar. Only holographically, of course, but it seemed to be ajar, and that was what mattered. Four figures dashed into the room, all dressed in black, with masks over their faces. All but one, it seemed. The shortest of them was similarly attired, but long black hair obscured, but did not cover, her delicate, fey features. They spread out into the room, two of them rifling through the DataBooks, another beginning to hack Samuel's computer, and the third knocking out the cameras one by one. When the last camera in the room was disabled, the image went dead. "Stop," John's voice bade. "Backtrack." The image began to move slowly in reverse, the image reappearing, the people moving backwards around the room, placing files back onto the shelves. "Forward slow," Jane said. The image continued forward again, crawling past until just before the last camera was knocked out. "Stop." "What am I looking at?" Samuel asked.  
"Do you recognize the file on that shelf?" he asked, pointing to the one the short woman was just barely touching. "No, I don't," Samuel answered. "I just watch the files, I'm not cleared to know what is inside them." John nodded sagely. "Of course you do not. It's not your position to know." "That," Jane said, sidling up next to the much shorter woman, "is a highly classified document. Top, very top secret." "There are many secrets here," Samuel said. "Secrets are not our business," John said testily. "Keeping them, is," Jane finished.  
"What is so special about that particular file?" Samuel asked. "Not your concern," she answered throatily. "It is the business of the Parliament, and let it stand at that," John said. "How can you even be sure she knows what's on that?" he began. "It is not our concern whether she knows," Jane interrupted, but was in turn interrupted by John. "We found epithelial cells on the file. Epithelial cells that came from a woman without any Parliamentary clearance. If she knows," John said. "Her life is forfiet." "And if she doesn't," Jane smiled, "she's just... collateral damage." Samuel glanced around the room, and Jane flicked the control to the emitter. The image shifted, pulling the woman into the center of the room. She might have been cute, he figured. As it was, it looked like she was hiding behind her hair. He stared into her dark, dark eyes. "What's her name?" "That is a problem," John muttered, somehow still making his voice crisp and clear. "We are not sure what it is, now at least." "She vanished entirely more than five years ago," Jane smiled. "So..." Samuel said. "Why are you here?" "We were hoping to find some clue as to her present whereabouts," John said, walking to the librarian's side, watching the still image of the woman. "And did you?" Samuel asked. John glanced his direction, but didn't speak a word. "In older, more civilized cultures," John finally spoke, "when a man was found in betrayal, he would beg to throw himself on his sword." Damn! He knew! He'd let those people in, taking their money in exchange for taking a two hour coffee brake. John was going to rat him out to his employers. He put on a brave face. "Well, that doesn't exactly seem like an option, does it?" he said. He heard a sound of metal ringing along metal. From the desk, Jane grinned savagely as her long-fingered hand pulled up a long, slender sword. Samuel's eyes were locked on the weapon. "Do you know what your sin is?" she asked langorously. "I..."  
"Sloth," she answered, cutting him off. "You don't want to do this," Samuel said, but John was paying him no attention. Jane got to her feet and began to approach, that weapon held in her hand. His eyes twitched about, and he decided to do what he promised he'd never do. He decided to yehaw and ain't. He threw the first punch of his life, trying to catch John unawares as the man watched the image. The fist was about to connect with the man's jaw when the Operative seemed to flow out of the way, slipping behind Samuel in a heartbeat. His body was thrown off balance, but John helpfully stopped his forward stumble with a hand on his shoulder. Then came a paralyzing, horrifying pain, accompanied by a wet crunch. Then, there was nothing. He could still see the image of the woman, reaching for what was no longer a shelf, he could still see Jane walking toward him, but he couldn't feel anything from his tongue down. Suddenly, he didn't find her the slightest bit attractive, more like some already dangerous animal driven mad and set loose in a village. She kneeled down, facing where John had walked to stand in front of the short woman's eyes. Jane spun the blade about, slamming the pommel of the weapon into the floor, leaving the blade pointed straight up. Directly at Samuel's benumbed body. He felt his center of gravity shifting relentlessly forward, toward that sharp object. Then he fell. He didn't feel the blade cutting him, or in fact anything, but he knew it had impaled him. Jane smiled at him then, something that might have been pretty if there weren't so much madness behind it. "This is a good death," she said, green eyes flashing brightly. "There is no shame in this, a man's death. No shame at all," She smiled up at the image that still hovered in the middle of the room. "We are all making a better world. All of them. Better worlds." Samuel felt himself flipped, and the slight pressure on his ribcage which had been all the indication he had that he'd been stabbed was released. His eyes locked on John, who had reached out his hand to just at the verge of where the image's boundary stood. John whispered into the falling dark, "Where are you hiding, Annebell Roykerk?" <>  
The two men's staves cracked under the overcast sky as they spun about, one trying to press his advantage, the other trying not to get drubbed in the ribs again. He'd already taken sufficient stabbing pain to put him off of wanting to be stabbed for a while, but Jacob took Sylvia's advice to heart. Better to know how to use a sword and not need to, than to need, and barely know which end of the weapon to hold. So they fought as he healed. He felt stronger with every passing day, no longer hobbling about like an invalid. Early pressed forward again, finally offering what Jacob dearly needed; an opening. Using the larger, stronger man's momentum against him, Jacob managed to turn Jubel's attack, slashing the man's back with the wooden training sword as he slipped past. Were the blade steel, it would have torn out the man's spine. Early recoiled in surprised pain. Jacob had never landed a blow before, and the former bounty hunter scowled as he kneaded his back. "Told you I was getting better," Jacob panted. It felt good to not hurt every time he breathed. Hell, he felt good in general. Kell had made good his word, delivering both Early and Legacy's payment for that big damn job that almost got them all killed over Boros. As well, he had delivered something else. "This is a..." Jacob said in surprise, looking up to the screen. Kell smirked. "I ain't earned this." "You fought for the Independants," Kell replied gruffly. "Don't matter when or how you did, only that you did. You've earned the right to wear the brown. That's yours. You've earned it." Jacob pulled the rich brown duster over his shoulders, thrusting his arms throught he sleeves. The damn thing seemed tailor made for him. He grinned at the fit of it, and Kell nodded. "Looks good on ya, kid," Kell said. "Don't be a stranger, Greyson." Now, Jacob pulled on that brown coat, dispelling the seasonal chill that was working its way into his bones now that he had ceased his physical exersion. He pulled up the scabbard that had laid against the stones of the ground, buckling it into his belt almost without thought. Strange how the weirdest things could become normal in time. "Who's watching Syl?" he asked quietly into the blowing wind. Early scowled. "Friday, right now. I'm on next watch," Jubel responded, buttoning his shirt back up. Syl hadn't recovered. Hell, she hadn't even come close to waking. Since that single word uttered nearly a month ago, she hadn't made a peep. Jacob wasn't taking any chances, though. Even when she was being watched, she was strapped down under enough bindings to hold down a panicked bull. He knew what would happen if she came out of it... changed. Corrupted. Reaved. So she was watched. Only Anne never took a shift, because he knew if she did, Sylvia wouldn't be a problem any longer. He still wondered where she had developed that sort of will. Legacy herself was begin pulled back together nicely. The Crab which was still embeded into her spine had been pulled off, and Cole tore it apart with a vengence, giddy with the opportunity to work with 'Reaver tech'. The repairs on the ship, which ate up most of Legacy's coffers, should have taken a year, according to Cole, but even now Zane was damn near finished. Having both a drydock and a pair of good mechanics working on her, she recovered quick and strong. The two men walked back into the complex, after so long ignoring the computer controlled autocannon which patroled the sky for intruders. After the Alliance last let itself be known on this rock its owners made sure they would walk a bit softer. So far, Jacob and company had been the only folk to leave their bootfalls on the dirt. Wasn't much of a sun to be had on this rock, which made its disappearance with night all the darker. The two went their separate ways once the building closed around them. Early went toward where the rest of the people were, the heart of the place. Jacob went toward the back bay, where Legacy sat in wait. Verne stumbled onto Jacob as he was making his way through the compound. Now that Jacob knew his name, weren't a way in hell he was calling him Mister Universe. Just didn't work, he thought. "Done for the day?" Verne asked.  
"Right tired," Jacob answered. "Yeah."  
"I figured as much," Verne said. "Because you're headed toward Lenore's room." Jacob frowned. "I thought it was just you four?" "It is. Kinda. Lenore was here first," he said, nodding to the room. Jacob indulged him and stepped in. A blonde woman was sitting upright in the middle of the room, which had been made into a sort of dias. She stared forward, eyes glassy and unseeing, her limbs completely motionless. Dead? He sniffed the air. No, not dead. It smelled more like plastic. That's when it hit him. Lovebot. Jacob shook his head. "I didn't know Shelley put up with these kinda propensities," he laughed. "Lenore isn't mine," Verne contradicted. "Never was, in point of fact. It belonged to the last Mister Universe." "Really?" Jacob said, taking another step toward it. "You might not want to do that," Verne warned. "Why? What's it going to do? Thrust at me?" Jacob chuckled. "Mal!" the lovebot's voice was odd, more than a bit strangled, as if she were talking past a stab wound. "Guy killed me, Mal. Killed me with his sword. How weird is that?" "We found Lenore in his old sanctum, still covered in his blood," Verne explained. "It only seemed right that we keep her around. Last vestige of the great man, if you would." "They can't stop the signal, Mal," the lovebot wound down. "They can never stop... the signal..." "Well, that was all manner of unsettling," Jacob said, backing away from the now slumped and motionless sex-toy. "Anne is on Legacy?" he asked. "Last time I checked."  
Jacob nodded for a moment. "And which way is that?" Verne laughed and pointed in a general direction that was pretty much the way Jacob had been heading anyway. He took his leave and made his way through the complex until he reached its far side, where Legacy sat quietly on the tarmac. With a smile, he walked up the ramp and into the ship which was now on its last fussing-over. He dropped his bag of things in the corner of the bay and ascended to the top deck, finally pushing open his door and descending into his bunk. Anne was already laid out on the bed, dozing lightly. He dropped off his coat and his weapons, sliding into bed next to her. The moment he'd paused, she rolled onto him, staring down her nose at him from her favorite vantage point. It had been a while since she felt confident to do that. She smiled. He smiled back. "Did you win?"  
"Once," he said.  
"Doubtful," she said, snuggling closer, despite the fact that the only way she could be closer would be to open him up and burrow inside. He regretted the imagery the moment it sprung to mind. "Are you alright?" he asked. Something about her wasn't quiet normal, he thought. Something a bit off. He ran a hand along her short, curling hair. "I'm just shiny," she replied, but she didn't sound confident in that. Come to think on it, she rarely did. Tough, but not confident. "We flying?" She asked, dark eyes still closed. "Come tomorrow, we will be," Jacob answered. She murmured slightly and hugged close. Jacob dispelled the thoughts he had and simply wrapped an arm around his wife. It felt good to say that, if even to himself. His wife. His beautiful little wife. Still clothed, sweaty, and no doubt a bit malodorous, Jacob knew he couldn't be that pleasant a mattress, but she was immediately asleep. And he was not long in joining her. <>  
The chirping brought her awake. She didn't like having to deal with a call at this hour in the night, especially when she was having so pleasant a dream. She rolled over and slipped her legs out from under the silken sheets which piled high on her bed. She casually pulled a robe around herself as she worked the blood back into her body. It still didn't feel like she was awake, but there was nothing to do for it now. She yawned as she climbed the ladder. She knew that most of the crew couldn't hear the signal. Even though they were pretty much universally closer to it than she was, she'd trained herself to notice it. It wouldn't do to have a message come for her if she wasn't around to recieve it. As she continued through the silence of the ship, the near-silent chirping drew her past the kitchen and down the stairs. She went down into the common area, turning and right into her infirmery. She was just a crew member, she knew, but it was still her room. Nobody questioned it. The panel in the back of the room blinked with the incoming call, and Friday muttered to herself as she activated the screen. She was more than a bit surprised at who she saw in it. "Well," her own voice came from her own face. "It certainly took you long enough." Friday uttered a colorful explaintive under her breath as she stared balefully into the screen. "What do you want?" she demanded. 

Monday's Child 

"Have you ever read the writings of Shan-Yu?" the tall, blonde haired man said. He had a wide, friendly grin on his square jaw, his eyes twinkling with delight. She thrashed against her bonds, trying to scream but unable for the gag which stopped her voice. Her eyes flit about the room, sanitary and stark white. The bed was covered in a white plastic sheet, the furniture shoved into a corner and covered. The entire place reminded her of a hospital room. Clean. Sterile. Lifeless. "He say, live with man fourty years, share house, meals, and every topic of conversation. Then, bind this man, hand to foot and hold him over volcano's edge. It is then," he picked up a large and cruel looking dagger from a tray not far away, "that you will finally meet the real man." She struggled back against the chains and course hemp as he drew closer, his youthful face looking entirely too enthusiastic. She never knew fear before. She had been raised from a small child in luxury, to know the best things in life. When she turned twelve, she and her sister had both entered training with House Celeste. Her own aspirations were achieved, her sister's, not so much. She was respected, independantly wealthy. And she would trade it in for what her sister had, at this moment, no matter what that may be. "Of course, now we are past little pleasantries," Dmitri Niska said as he loosened the ball gag from her mouth. The very first thing she did was take a deep breath and scream. Almost off-handedly, Niska backhanded her across the face, the pommel of that knife scraping her perfectly smooth cheek. "Useless, I assure you," Niska chided. "I choose room to be soundproof. There is no help coming for you. Say it." "Go to hell! Help!" she screamed. Niska frowned disdainfully, hooking his fingers through the bodice of her dress and yanking it down. The fine fabrics tore apart under his hands, leaving her trussed up in nothing but her shift. When that task was done, Niska jabbed her with that knife. Her call for help dissolved into a yelp of pain. She'd never known pain, just as she'd never known fear. Sure, she'd taken a few lumps as a toddler, and even broke her wrist once while horseback riding. But she'd never been stabbed. It never occured to her that she ever might. Finally, there was no sound left in her. She wanted to scream, but she'd used up all the air she had. Her dark, fluid eyes locked with Niska's. He grinned. She squirmed in pain as he drew the blade slowly along her. At long last, after what seemed to be an eternity, he stopped, removing his blade and setting it aside. He slid his fingers along the scarlet blade. "I must admit, this is rare opportunity for me. The blood of whores is base thing, but yours, miss Yiao, is special thing. Is solid." "You," she groaned hoarsely, "have earned a black-mark in the Companion Client Registery. No one will ever serv..." He cut her off with a brutal backhand, which must have loosened some of her teeth, because she noted a fine white shape in the midst of the pool of blood. A bicuspid, if she remembered correctly from her sister's ramblings. She looked back up at Niska. "That will not, I am thinking, matter so much. You will not get chance to speak with your Registery," his words were absolutely kind. He walked out of the room for a moment, and when he returned, he had something on a trolley, something she couldn't quite twist herself to see. He walked back in front of her, his fine coat discarded and his sleeves rolled back. "Of course we are now past the preliminaries. The polite questions; who do I think I am? Do I know who you are? Why are you being tied? We are past these things. Now we reach important questions." Niska reached past her to that thing on the cart, which activated with an electric hum. She struggled mightily, but she knew it was hopeless. "My contractor expressed wish to 'ugly' you, and that is easily enough achieved," he pulled up a pair of paddles, tapping them against her flesh. Pain exploded through her with the electric current. "But it does not interest me. Would you like to know what would?" Monday Yiao tried to pull herself into a ball, to protect herself. She couldn't. "Let us see," Niska said kindly, "If we can meet the real you." <>  
The melancholy notes filled the ship, seeming to vibrate off the walls and fill the claustrophobic space with dissonance. She realized half way through the song which one she had picked, and it was one of the bleakest. Since she'd gotten that call, she hadn't been able to concentrate. That would have been horrible had anybody gotten hurt, but as it was, she could bare think straight. That bitch. That conniving, self-centered bitch, what took everything she ever dreamed of. Then she had the gall to call her up and gloat. It was enfuriating. It was everything she didn't want to think about. She'd cut off ties with that... woman... nearly a decade ago, and didn't regret it in the slightest. They'd been close, once. Closer than friends or lovers. Then she had to go and hump it up. The last note, still hanging in the air, sounded off. She glanced at her frets and realized her fingers were clawed over the strings, as if she subconciously wanted to choke the guitar. The instant she saw it, her hand flew open, and she shook the random extremity to excorsize its demons. She knew enough about psychology that sometimes people acted on things they wouldn't even admit to themselves, repressed memories and subjugated feelings and such. Some of that strayed dangerously close to Freudism, but she was living proof of fact, it seemed. She set her instrument aside, before she smashed it to kindling in a taking. Safer that way. Grinding her teeth, she rose from the confortable chair she always took after dinner to practice her art. She needed to walk, to fight, to have a romp, something to distract her and exhaust her, something to leave her drained and able to sleep. As it was, it felt like somebody had been sneaking amphetamines into her supper. A tremor ran through her, leaving her shaking in the stairwell. Maybe a sedative might be a good idea. The only person of her skill level she could fight was Anne, and that little woman would tear her apart out of sheer tenacity, and while there was two men able to romp, she didn't think either of them willing. Zane still was a bit hurting from his two-day marriage, and she didn't have the cruelty to her to bust him up further by forcing him into something he didn't want. Early was just bereft of gorram passion. Not even worth the time and effort. So she unlocked and opened the door to her infirmery. She never used to lock the door, but with a potentially dangerous, albiet currently comatose, woman on board, she wasn't willing to keep that many sharp or pointed implements, poisons, and miscellany available to hostile hands. Potentially hostile, she revised herself. She hated thinking that way of Sylvia. She used to be fun. A bit loopy, by times, and occasionally somewhat unsettling, but fun. Now... Now, she might wake up alright, wake up a shattered wreck, wake up a Reaver, or not wake at all. She wondered briefly if God dimmed the lights in the 'Verse just for this little crew. Bastard. With a capital 'B'. She pulled open the drawer and pulled out a bottle of diazepam. She was unsealing the lid when the console beside her head chirped to life, startling her a bit. She glanced between the bottle and the console, finally deciding to take the call. Anybody using her private line probably had something to say. She activated it, and was surprised by the face she saw. "Well," Inara said in the screen. "I must say, I never thought I'd see the day when a Yiao looked less than stellar." Friday turned away from the screen for a second and said in full voice. "Anybody else around want to insult me?" "I'm sorry," Serra said quickly. "It seem's I'm picking up bad habits from my... from Mal." "What's this about?" Friday asked, adopting her surgery voice. "It's about your sister."  
"I know about Monday. I got her call," Friday growled. The Companion... former Companion, seemed like now... glanced at her in confusion. "When did she speak to you?" Serra asked carefully "'Bout two weeks back. Gloating, 'cause she'd pulled down ten-over-price to escort some dandy on Persephone. I called her a whore, and hung up wanting to mangle her." "Bi zwei yi zhi ting woh, ni-yu chun di ren!" Serra shouted, her composure severely rattled. "The person who hired her has a blackmark in the registery with House Madrassa. Celeste never ranked high enough to access the Registery, so your sister fell right into in that bastard's hands." Friday paused. "I know a lot of bastards, Serra. Care to be more specific?" "Atherton Wing, a high society man with delusions of propriety. He used one of his pseudonyms to procure your sister, and now he has his man preparing her for him. Is your sister a strong woman?" "Not particularly," Friday scoffed. "Where in Persephone? Eavesdown, or the city?" "The city. She's being held in a hotel that's getting ready for a ball. Security will be tight," she seemed ready to continue but Friday cut her off angrily. "Why in the sphincter a' hell'd you think I'd care anyway?" Inara stared in shocked confusion at Friday's outburst. "She's your sister," Inara said, as if that were the entirety of the matter. Little did the Companion know, it truly, truly was. "You say that like it should mean somethin'," she hissed, flicking off the screen. She shook a bit as she stared at the now blank screen, her fingernails digging into her palms. "Somethin' wrong there, doc?" Greyson said, leaning into the infirmery. He did have a way of sidling in on a body. "Excuse me?"   
"Couldn't help but overhear, on account of my eavesdropping," Jacob had that less-than-half-serious look in his eye. "What was this about your sister?" Friday ground her teeth for a moment. There really wasn't anything she could do now. A promise was made a damn long time ago. Now it was time for that promise to come due. And hell on any what got in her way. "Gather the crew," she said, noting as Jacob's eyebrow rose in shock. "What was that?"  
"Gather the crew," she repeated, making her way past him. "You giving me orders on my ship?" he asked, suddenly a touch less mirthful. Something of his spark had faded in the last months. Constant worry crushed the soul. She didn't read that anywhere, she watched it first hand. "Do I have to?" she asked, staring down her captain. Jacob crossed his arms and didn't give an inch. "What's this about?" he finally said.  
"We're less than ten hours away from Persephone, right?" Jacob nodded. "Anne needs to land us in Southdown. As for the first, I have something they need to hear." Jacob's jaw tightened for a moment, and his arms uncrossed. "Fine, I'll have them up in the kitchen." As the captain left, she moved back into the infirmery, opening up the compartment she'd built into the back of one of the cupboards, pulling out a work of fine silk, like much she wore any chance she got. This one, though, she hadn't worn in years. Six years, now... Refolding the thing, she made her way up the stairs, noting as Early vanished around the corner just ahead of her. She arrived in the kitchen as Early took his seat off to the side of the room. Zane was closest, turned about in his chair so he could see her. Everybody but Sylvia. She took one long step, then another, and set the robe upon the table for all to see. "What's the meaning of this?" Jacob asked, not enjoying riddles in any form. "This is a novice's robe. Every person training in a Companion House gets a number of them. They show the woman, or man, as the case may be, as an initiate, and teach them the finer things in dress and sensation," Friday explained. "Companion House?" Zane asked. "And how did you get... oh." "My mother was a Companion trained in House Celeste, a woman of grace and ability that almost became House Priestess. Before she had children, by which I mean. I personally began my training when I was twelve years old. I learned all of the pleasurable arts; how to walk, how to speak with a refined tongue," Zane snickered at that, "archery, husbandry, music and dance. In all things but one, I was the premier student, and weren't it for that one talent, I would not be here this day." "What one thing?" Jacob asked, a leading question. He probably gathered what it was, but wanted it confirmed. He was a sharp one, sometimes. "Control," Friday said. "It is the first lesson for a Companion, and the last. Since I, admittedly, have all the self control of a suicidal lemming, I was... a failure." "Well, this is all fine," Early said from the nook. "But what does this have to do with... anything?" "I didn't enter training alone."  
"Of course, there'd be others in your class, right?" Zane pointed out. "That's not what I meant. I was talking about my sister." "You have a sister?" Anne asked, not noticing Jacob nod slowly. "Identical twin sister," Friday confirmed. "What'd they call her?" Zane laughed. "Saturday?" "Although she does 'work' for her living, no. Monday," Zane looked like he was about to laugh again. "My mother was a very talented whore, but she was anything but original. I was born first, and she fell out of labor. Monday was delivered by Caesarian three days later." "So you were born on a," Zane said.  
"Friday."  
"And she was born on," Zane continued.  
"The next Monday," Friday finished for him. His face screwed up in a scowl. "Damn. She was unoriginal."  
"What happened?" Jacob asked, bringing her back to the topic at hand. "Monday succeeded where I failed, becoming a Registered Companion. I, in my disgrace, left Londinum and headed to Boros. Using up pretty much everything in my trust-fund, I bought my way into the Boros MedAcad, and the rest, as you guessed, is history." "Interesting though this is," Jacob said, "I'm still a bit foggy on what this has to do with that Companion on Serenity. Or why we're diverting to Persephone, in point of fact." Anne glanced at her husband. "We're diverting to Persephone?" He nodded. She stared at him a moment then shrugged. "Fine." As she went up to the bridge, Friday sat down in at the midline of the table. "I have a plan on how to reach her, but I'm going to need all of you for this." "How so?" Jacob asked.  
"I have the face, fingerprints, and DNA of a Registered Companion. I can walk in anytime I want. Only problem is, I don't know what I'll be facing on the inside, and I need someone there in case something goes wrong. That means you," she stabbed a finger at her captain. "You, on the other hand, are a bit harder a case. You still have that uniform from the horse job, and you might just clean up enough to look military. Certainly having enough money to hire a Companion for the night, dong ma?" "I'm thinkin' Anne ain't gonna like this plan," Zane muttered. Jacob and Friday both shot him a look. "What you need, though, is an IdentCard," she said. "Fine," Jacob said. "I mug a body when we hit the dirt." "No," she chastized. "A real IdentCard. Name, rank, serial number and history. Since the fistfight at the ball back in the day, they've upgraded their systems to only let upstandin' members of the community in." "A falsified I-card, that's a tall order. Damn near impossible to get at any price," Zane said. "Mister Universe. They can get it done. That'll just get us up to the door. Once we're inside, we'll be unarmed and blind. We have no idea where she is in the building, only that it's above the level of the ballroom." "Unarmed?" Jacob asked.  
"Newtech gun scans. They don't target the serial numbers like the old models, rather the gunpowder in the bullets. If you bring that broomhandle, it's gonna have to be empty," she continued. "When we find her, we're going to have to scram, and scram fast. She'll probably be in a lot of hurt, so getting back here double-time is on our definite list of things to do." "You said you needed all of us?" Anne said as she returned to the kitchen. "You two," she pointed at the other two men, "are going to be the Colonel's entourage. What gets him in gets you in. You," she pointed at Zane, "are going to hack the local link in one of the bedrooms and give us a heads up when things start going south. You," she pointed at Early, "are going to steal everything that isn't nailed down. Might as well make some money on this." "Theft?" Early said. "That isn't my..." "I know where they keep all their best scratch and you'll be stealing from rich, debase, arrogant hun dahn what won't even notice it's gone. 'Sides, with you workin' on percentage, it'd be a niceness to have a figure in the positive to work with." Early scowled, but held his peace.  
"Do you know this place?" Jacob asked, standing from his seat. "I attended when I was seventeen. I hear these things are almost the exact same every damn year," Friday said, joining him on his feet. She glanced at the other two. "You should get your fineries on. Won't just let anybody in, now would they?" "And me?" Anne asked. "Don't exactly got much desire to be flouncin' around a spot like that." "Just as well," Friday said, moving toward the cockpit. "We need somebody ready to take off in a hurry. Figure that makes you the Colonel's valet." Anne didn't look too impressed with the notion. "Jacob, I need you to Wave Mister Universe. He's the only fella I can think of off hand that could pull an ID-card out of his pi gu in our time frame," Friday announced. Jacob nodded and went to the nose of the ship, the doctor not far behind him. And where the captain went, so went Anne's nation. Jacob wasted no time setting up a Wave from the gunner's seat; Anne lounged in her own chair, and Friday hunched over Jacob's shoulder. "From here to the eyes and ears of the 'Verse," came that familiar voice. "Oh, Jacob! Well, didn't say I expected to hear from you so quick." "No time for chit-chat, sensei," Friday said. "We've got a powerful need, one you're the only that can fix." "What sorta need are you talkin' here?" Verne asked. "IdentCard," Jacob said. "Not just stolen, forged. Full background history and all the bells." Verne scowled a moment, seemingly distracted by something out of camerashot. "That's a hell of a tall order there, captain. What sort of timeframe are you lookin' at?" "It's got to be in my pretty little hand in ten hours," Jacob said. Mister Universe just stared at him for a moment. "You're being coerced into this, aren't you? Blink twice if somebody's got a gun on you," he said. "Verne..." Friday warned.  
"That kinda task would take a week, no matter where in the Core you looked," the man said. "We're not headed for the Core. We're headed for Persephone." "Persephone? You just delight in makin' things difficult on me, don't you?" He pondered for a moment. "It's not going to come cheap." "Money is no object," Friday said gravely. "It is a bit," Jacob interjected, but Verne spoke right over him. "Just finding one that's reprogrammable, and ain't all of them are, will run a body four grand. Finding one in ten hours, I gotta say, that complicates things. Paying the Locater will run ten by its lonesome," he scratched his ear. "And the history?"  
"Hell, I'll throw that in for free," Mister Universe replied. "Wait," Jacob finally got a word in. "Where the hell are we going to get together fifteen thousand credits in ten hours?" "One last dip into the old trust fund," she muttered. "They'll shut it down the instant they realize it's been active the last few years, what with my disappearance an' all." "How long'll that take?" Verne asked, but Friday had already reached past the captain and began flinging her fingers along the screen. The Cortex feed jumped between pages so quickly that Greyson probably couldn't even see what she was doing: She'd practiced this action rigorously, so that when she attempted this, she'd be in and out before they shut her out. In a total of twelve seconds, just enough to do her business, just short of being Cortex-Locked, she had the sum flying through the black to the tiny complex on the backwater moon in the heart of an ion cloud. Mister Universe watched a side screen for a moment as the sum was deposited into his account, and smiled. "Ten hours," he said, then leaned back away from the screen. "Fi! Get Cole and Shelley, we've got a rush job!" <>  
"Don't pick at it," Friday hissed as he tried to run his hand through his hair. It felt weird. Smelled weirder, in point of fact, what with all the crap she had him put in it. It wasn't just slicked back, as he sometimes did, but all formed and such. Felt odd. The building was everything he expected of a Core planet, despite the notable fact that he was quite definitely still in the Border Worlds. Everything that could, shined. Everything that didn't, glowed. Whatever could, also hovered. Being born in the black, he never did even get to acclimate himself to anything grounded, let along wealthy. This was a system shock, even with him pushing so hard on thirty. "Remember," Friday whispered. "You belong here. Nothing is as good as it was last year, the food is atrocious. Stare down and insult the nobles, polite nods to other military officers, and never, ever, talk about your service. Let them guess. They'll come up with," she paused as a servent scuttled past them. "They'll come up with something far better if you just let them ramble." "Arrogant, overpaid, condescending. Got it," Jacob muttered, offering his arm just short of the corner for Friday to loop her's through. They stepped out into the foyer, noting the procession of frilly dresses as they floated around the room like bits of flotsam stuck in an updraft. A wall of music hit him, classical instruments releasing their dulcet tones and controlling the motion of the dancers in the center of the floor. He nodded back to Early and Zane, then pointed toward the servant's door. The doorman caught the gesture, but watched the announcer. They would be allowed in no sooner than their master. Or so Friday instructed him. The pair in front of them was announced, and Jacob forced his back straighter than he'd ever made it before. He even tipped it back a bit so he'd always be lookin' down at these folk, even them's taller than him. The announcer turned back and caught a glance of him. He betrayed a look of suspicion and Jacob pulled the IdentCard which had actually been handed to him as he walked into the door of this building, and slid it into the reader. He punctuated it with his thumb and the lights went from red to green. The announcer nodded and turned back to the room. "Colonel Jacob Northcutt, and Monday Yiao," he said loudly. Behind him, Jacob heard the doorman open the door and allow his 'servants' into the bowels of the building. Jacob took a step forward, but found himself restrained, as if the air had become too thick to pass through. A man in a turban with a walrus mustache turned to him. "I am sorry, sir, but I shall have to confiscate your necklace," he said, his voice surprisingly high pitched. Jacob scowled, letting borrowed rage darken his features into near apoplexy. "You," he said quietly, "shall do no such thing." The two men matched glares for a moment. The security took a step forward, but Jacob reached into his collar and extracted the bullet, holding it so his fingers obscured some of the symbols on it. The walrusy fella leaned in and examined the round, being the only one on Jacob's person. His Mauser was even emptied for the occasion. Finally, the man nodded. "It's a .308," he whispered. "Rifle round. What does it say?" "Not your business," Jacob muttered angrily, slipping back into place. "I'm going to allow this," the man said, turning off the system for a few seconds, which Jacob took to enter appearantly at his leisure. Friday retook her place at his arm. A woman, conversing nearby, seemed to recognize her instantly, and made her way over. "Monday, delightful to see you again," the woman said. "Although I thought you were contracted to mister Addison?" "Addison was my client last evening," Friday replied evenly. "The colonel is my client tonight." The woman, a Companion, by the look of her, sneered, oh, so very subtlely. He only noticed because he'd been watching for it. "Two clients on two consecutive nights? Celeste has fallen farther than I'd thought." "Fools and children insult," Jacob said, his voice light but with an edge of displeasure. "You do not appear to be a child." "Jacob," Friday warned, noting as the Companion almost turned red with shock and anger. "You must forgive him. Military are so hard to deal with." The Companion stared at him for a moment, then back to her, and nodded. "They are at that," she said. "If you will excuse me, my client awaits me." Smiling, she almost dragged him along the rim of the dance floor. "If you do that again, they'll know you're a fake for damn sure." "Did you know her?" he asked.  
"Roberta," she said. He arched an eyebrow. "I did her appendectomy three years ago." "You're just a storehouse of knowledge, ain't you?" "Don't say ain't."  
Jacob cracked a grin before he could catch himself. He reschooled his face to disdain, but noticed another decorated fellow standing between them and the door. A decorated fellow what looked in a talking mood. Jacob fixed that down-his-nose look and attempted to breeze past him. "Ah, another soldier," the youngish man said. Youngish, it was odd that Jacob used that word to describe someone who was older than he was. "Colonel Easter, at your service." "No, you are not," Jacob said, but the man danced back in front of him. "Don't be so rude. At least grace me with your name," Easter said, and Jacob realized the man was more than a bit drunk. "Northcutt," Jacob said. "Colonel Northcutt. Now, if you please?" "Haste is an unwelcome trait in a military man," Easter rambled. "Tell me, where are you stationed?" Jacob glanced to Friday. How do I get out of this, he asked? What do I do? How do I slip this hun dahn and get to those doors? And maintain my arrogance and... bingo. "You," he said acidically, "are making an ass of yourself. Look at you. You can barely stand. Disgraceful." "Wei, I was only," Easter began, but Jacob had already begun to walk past him. Easter caught Friday's other arm, dragging both to a halt. "You might think to remove that arm," Friday said. Easter was about to speak when a portly gentleman with a red sash came upon them. "I would follow that piece of advice, colonel," the man said evenly. "The last time a man tried running off with a Companion, a fistfight broke out." Easter let go as if his hand were burned, and backed away with a respectful nod which almost tipped the inebriated man over. The rotund man watched the real officer leave, then turned back to Jacob. "We haven't been properly introduced, mister?" the man with the sash asked. "Colonel Northcutt. Jacob Northcutt," Jacob said. "And you are?" "Colonel?" the man asked. "If you wish. My name is Warrick Harrow. If you need rescuing from these sorts, I rarely stray far." Harrow nodded to both, and turned away. Over his shoulder, he spoke again. "You do look a lot like your sister," he said, staring Friday in the eyes. <>  
This really was a triapse, Zane thought as he made his way through the 'underbelly' of the complex. Other, real servants charged past him, on their way to whatever their masters willed. Zane almost chuckled at the thought. Servitude. Gorram he was glad he wasn't here all the time. Might just go off his nut. He weaved past the kitchen, headed for what Friday had called the 'scullion hole'. He hadn't asked what that meant, nor did she provide him with any explaination, only directions to go there, and once there to... Ah, there was the cook. She'd been quite specific to look extremely overtaxed and busy in that man's presence. A chef was liable to snatch up anybody's help if they looked to be lollygaggin'. He kept his head low and burned through the kitchen in long, ground eating strides. "You, young man," the chef shouted in Mandarin. "Come here." Zane paused, glancing over his shoulder. Another youth, likely not to have even seen twenty summers, snapped his fingers in irritation and turned to his new taskmaster. Nice to be good, as his Pa said, better to be lucky. He continued on his way before that luck gave up on him. The scullion hole was as unattractive a place as he thought it would be, but he didn't need to stay there long. With a quick glance to make sure nobody else was around, he scampered up a shelf and popped a cieling panel free of its place, crawling up into the breach after. He was glad he wasn't claustrophobic, because the space between the false cieling of the room below and the real floor of the room above was barely enough to fit his chest in. Using a slow drag, he crawled over the wall that separated the scullion hole from the stairwell next to it. He lifted this next cieling panel a mite, just long enough to check for witnesses. This place was also clear, so he dropped down. By now, Early would be waiting by the lockroom, and Jacob would be on his way to the elevator. He didn't have much time. Taking the steps two at a time, he ascended into the first of the rooms where tonights honored guests would be staying. If they were, in fact, staying. He knocked on the first door, waiting a long moment, then placing his ear to the false-wood. Nothin'. Pulling out the proffered card-key, he opened the thing and entered the room, pausing only long enough to scramble the damn door once he was through. That'd slow down anybody took to chasing him. The Cortex screen was a problem, he knew. If he didn't access it right, anybody wanting to could just look him square in the face while he was doing his work. Hacking the Cortex weren't exactly easy neither, no matter what Verne said. He began to rewire the thing. The image flicked off for a moment, and he frowned. No, that wasn't right. Was it? Suddenly, the screen came back on. He was in. He brought up the security cameras, noting that Early was standing in the shot of the door. "Early, you're too close to the door. Step away," Zane said into his transmitter. On the screen, Early frowned, glanced up to the camera, and sauntered away. The mechanic took a moment to loop the video feed once Early was gone, making sure the time code was still running forward. That was the real trick of this scam. "Alright," he said. "I'm opening the doors... now." The indicator for the door now showed the thing unlocked and open, even though the video feed clearly contradicted that. Zane switched to the internal camera, creating a short loop and locking it in before Early entered. "Kinda meager," Zane muttered, observing the contents of the vault. "Take what you can." Zane shut down the lower cameras and began to flip through the hall feeds. The private room cameras were much harder to access, so he left that as a last option. The halls were depressingly similar. He could barely tell one from the last. He must have scanned along twelve gorram floors when one of them caught his attention. He switched angles, just noting the man pulling a door shut behind him. Zane called up the retroactive feeds. "Oh God," he muttered. "Oh God, oh God, oh God." He activated the next feed, the elevator. Oh, no, they weren't alone. "Boss," he said, voice leaking with barely restrained panic. "We've got a problem." <>  
"How would you know she wasn't a Companion?" Jacob asked, still holding onto his arrogant voice. This Harrow fella just followed him, right into the elevator, in point of fact. "Elementary," Harrow replied when the doors slid shut. "I have been in the presence of many real Companions in my years. I have even partaken of several, in my younger years. Needless to say, I can tell that there is something about you, Friday, that is anything but Companion." "My name is," Friday began.  
"Friday," Harrow interrupted. "You don't need to hold up the act. If you wanted to play at Companion for the night, it's not my place to stop you. It might be your sister's, but not mine. I hope you do realize that this swai gentleman you are with isn't a colonel, though." "Excuse me?" Jacob asked.  
"Do not kid yourself," Harrow said.  
"Too arrogant?" Jacob muttered.  
"Not arrogant enough, in point of fact," Harrow replied, still staring straight foward at the doors. "Two people not what they claim to be. How you got past the door scanner is beyond me." "Need," Friday answered. Harrow gave her a sideways glance. "I'm not here to live the highlife, and Jacob here is married." "That doesn't stop most. And you can stop calling him Jacob." "My name is Jacob," Greyson replied. "Just not Northcutt." "What are you going to do?" Friday asked, her voice very tight. "Me? Nothing. I should warn you, though. The game of kings is a dangerous one. Whatever agenda you are advancing is of no concern to me, unless you make it so. Dohn luh mah?" "Boss," Zane's voice sounded near to panicking. "We've got a problem." Jacob schooled himself from asking right here what it was. This Harrow was an unforseen snag that he didn't want complicating this already shaky plan. The floor chimed and the doors slid open. The wide man stepped clear, looking once more back at Friday. "Rule number four," he said, just as the doors slid shut. Jacob sighed in relief, then pondered a moment at the look on his doctor's face. Somewhere between startlement and hilarity. "What's rule number four?" he asked quickly. "There are four situations when a Companion is strictly forbidden to have sexual intercourse," she began to tick off fingers. "For less than Guild stipulated minimum price, for an individual with a blackmark in the Client Registery, for a known carrier of an infectious disease, and," she flicked her final finger for effect, "for personal pleasure." "Harsh."  
"You're telling me," she shook her head. "Zane?" Jacob finally activated his transmitter and asked as the elevator continued its ascent. "Niska's here!"  
"What?" Jacob shouted, eye wide. "Where? What's that old bastard doing here?" "Not the old man, boss. Dmitri Niska."  
Jacob almost sighed with relief. To the best of his knowledge, Dmitri hadn't started twisting up like his older brother, and like his father, for that matter. Unless Adelai had intervened, Jacob might still find an ally in Dmitri. "Did you find Monday?" he asked.  
"Listen to me, Jacob," Zane shouted into the captain's ear. Something must have set him off, because the kid never referred to Jacob by name. "Niska entered a white room. I repeat, a white room." "Son of a bitch!" Jacob yelled, pounding his fist into the metal doors. "White room?" Friday asked.  
"When Adelai was off the skyplex and felt the need to torture a body," Jacob spoke quickly, "he always did it in a white room. He liked the antisceptic feel of it, and he always has it as well lit as possible. Dmitri's apple mustn't have fallen too far after all." "Still got a chance with Silke," Zane muttered. "She didn't seem to nuts." "What floor?" Jacob asked.  
"Fourty eighth," Zane said.  
"Tai-kong suo-yo duh shing chiou sai-jin wuh duh pi gu, why can't anything be easy?" Jacob swore. He switched frequencies for a moment. "Anne? Are you hearing this?" "That's a neg. I just had to skull-kick a flirty yacht runner. What did I miss?" "We need you to bring that shuttle to the roof," Jacob said. "Shuh muh?"  
"Seems like our girl's damn near on the top floor. Ain't no way we're getting her out past that li'l soiree down stairs," he replied. "Fine, on my way."  
Jacob stared at the numbers, which increased far too slowly for his liking. Finally, the number reached fourty eight and the doors opened. The halls were, as he expected, empty. When Niska was staying abroad, he rented an entire floor. Just in case he decided to work on his reputation, Jacob had heard. The pair stole out into the empty ways, making silent footfalls. He glanced up at the media screen which sat at an intersection. "Which way, Zane?" he asked the screen. "Yeah, I see you too," Zane remarked. "Room fourty-eight eleven. Be careful. I can't see what's going on in that room. He's got the cortex screen covered with something." Jacob grunted in unease as he crept to the door. "Unlock it." "You're shiny... now," Zane said as the lock released. Jacob twisted the nob as he motioned Friday back. "Me first. He knows me. I might be able to," he said as a scream tore through the cracked door. Rage bubbled in the captain as he forced open the door. It was a room of horrors.  
The floor around the slanted surface where Niska's liked to do their work was crimson with blood and other bodily fluids, and the woman who was lashed to that table did not look very much like Friday at all. Not anymore, at least. Niska was about to apply a set of electrical paddles to her when he heard Jacob's entrance and turned about. "Ah, Jacob. Unexpected it is to see you here," the middle aged man said. "I always thought you dislike these things we do." "I do. Let her go, Niska," he said. He was having great difficulty convincing himself, in this moment, that everybody deserved a second chance. At this moment, it seemed that Niska had burned through a few dozen. "I am thinking, not," Niska said, putting aside the paddles and leaving Monday to writhe and sob. "My client, he pay much for her in this condition. I think he want her broken, yes?" "Dmitri," Jacob began toward his former employer again, but was halted when Niska pulled out a smallish pistol. Jacob returned the favor, pulling out his unloaded Mauser. "While impressive, that firearm is not fearful thing. Mine, not like yours, is loaded. Now please, step back." Jacob caught a flicker of motion at his blind side, and when he turned to face it, Friday had already stepped past him, headed directly toward Monday, it seemed. "What is this?" Niska whispered, both confused and angry. He kept his gun on Jacob, though. "Trickery?" "You... bitch," Friday spat at her sister's face. Monday recoiled in alarm and terror. "You stole my life, you conniving, self-centered whore. You took my wealth, you took my fame, you took my livelyhood, and left me patching up holes in bumpkins on a backwater boat!" "Friday?" Jacob asked. What the hell was going on? "I'm glad you ended up here. Glad you got what was coming to you. Learned you a lesson, didn't it?" Friday snatched a wicked looking knife. Jacob took a step toward the suddenly maddened woman, but Niska pulled back on the hammer. Niska did take a step toward Friday, though. "What would you like to lose first?" Friday demanded, her voice cracking with rage. "Your lying tongue? Or maybe those deceitful eyes," she made a plucking gesture. "Or maybe I should just split your sternum and show you your blackened heart?" "This is madness, and I will not stand for it," Niska said, taking another step to Friday, and reaching for her arm. "If you wish pain on your sister, speak with client, he will..." He was cut off when Friday refocused all her attention, strength and will on swinging that wicked knife straight into his eye. Niska recoiled with a roar of pain, swinging his gun toward the two women and firing wildly. Friday fell backward with a cry of pain, still gripping Niska's bloodied knife. She was only down for a moment, though, because the man quickly ran out of ammo, and as quickly as Jacob was rushing to tackle the man, Friday reached him first. She lashed out with her blade, slashing his somewhat handsome face into a bloody ruin, blinding him so he could only lash out madly at nothing as she drew closer. He tripped against the edge of his plastic-covered bed, and she mounted him, driving the dagger down three times near his heart. Niska stopped yelling, roaring, screaming. Now, he gasped. His hands twitched and flopped, and his sightless face stared upward. Friday leaned very close to his ear. "Now, let's see if we can meet the real you." she growled. Finally spent, she slumped off of him, collapsing into a mound on the floor. She breathed heavily, staring at nothing as he breathed heavily and wetly. "Above all else, do no harm," he heard her mutter. Tears were beginning to run down her cheeks. "What am I?" "Not a murderer," he said, offering her a hand. "What was that?" "Oh, God, Monday!" she shouted, eyes wide as she ran back to her sister's side, brushing the hair back from her forehead, listening to her chest. "She's not breathing. He must have hit her. Jacob, help me get her down." Jacob, still confused by the transformation he'd witnessed, left the gasping Niska and helped unchain the twin and lay her out on the floor. He watched as she ran through a host of doctory things, but at long last, she simply slumped over her sister's still body. Her eyes, when they rose, were overflowing with tears. "She's dead."  
<>  
"It wakes," the thing said. It took her a long moment to translate the words in her head. Tobrik was a counterintuitive language to understand, poetic but gutteral, flowing but harsh. And it didn't have a verbal equivalent for 'to be', which made some sentences harder. The words finally connected, and she opened her eyes. The face staring down at her was mutilated, a brutalized thing with the outer layers pulled back with hooks. So much of the face was pulled back it was as if somebody had split him from forhead to chin and just stapled the flaps over his ears. Then again, considering what matter of beast it was, one possibly might have. She kicked and flailed, managing to strike at something she couldn't see, something which tried to take hold of her again, but she pulled back before it could. It was a long struggle against many hands to rise, finally casting off the last of them and reaching for her gun. Why had they left her armed? She pulled out the magazine. Empty. "Flows-As-Water," a female voice said, "they cannot harm you." She glanced down at the Reavers surrounding her. They didn't scream or roar as they almost always did. They didn't even look that enraged. They simply appeared ambivalent, eyes dark and uncaring. She wasn't food to them, nor was she one of them. Confusion, perhaps? A situation they hadn't ever had to deal with before. She could still... feel them, their rage, their hunger, but it was subdued now. More like a regular prison than an insane asylum. "Where am I?" she asked. Or rather, she asked its Tobrik equivalent, which was akin to 'what is the place that I occupy?'. "We have searched long for you," the woman's voice spoke. "We were told to find Flows-As-Water, and find her we have." The... guards, she guessed, formed a wall around her, one she could not see past. They didn't make a move to touch her, and she checked her clothes. Intact, after a fashion. She didn't ache in any particular manner either. What madness was this, that they would take her, but not... well... sodomize her until she died, for one thing? "It does not understand," a man's voice said in the darkness. The ship was very dark, shadows stretching everywhere, for having less than one of every four lights intact. She suddenly was struck by a worry. She was being ionized right now. Soon, she would start to develop the symptomes of radiation sickness, and show the burns that these... things... did. "This is not the case," the man responded. "This ship was made especially for you, Flows-As-Water. It will not burn you." "Why do you keep calling me that?" she shouted. "It is who you are," the woman sounded unimpressed. A figure forced its way through the crowd, tall and broad, clad what looked like a robe, but made of the hair of a dozen brunettes. Each a slightly different shade of brown, so it seemed to change color with every motion. She could just barely see inside the cowl, making out a smooth, pale leather mask obscuring the creature's face. A Faceless Man, those around referred to him, with more than a little reverence. "It is awake. It must learn. It will come with me," the thing said, its voice deep and bass. "I think not," she said, but a pale fingered hand burst forward from the voluminous sleeves, catching her by the throat and lifting her easily from her feet. She tried to strike at the creature, but her limbs seemed to connect with something solid as stone before they ever reached the Faceless Man. The hand drew her closer after she had exhausted herself. "It will come," it said. "And it will learn." Sylvia opened her eyes.  
The blood-smell of the corridor was still there, the darkness and the screams. The Reavers were gone, though. She felt the floor beneath her feet. Not the same. Not congruent. Senses disagreed. Eyes said hard, toes and fingers said soft. Cold and warm. Disconnection. Bedlam. She walked foward down the cold/not-cold corridor, feeling the hardness/softness under her bare feet as she rounded a corner. This was unlike the thing she had seen before. She turned back, and there was the ship, her prison for that horrible time. She turned forward, and there was something else, well lit and carpeted. Empty, though. There were similarities. Always similarities. She counted her footsteps as she trod down the stairs. Not just stairs. Other places. Long, warm, not hard. Nobody around though. She could feel screaming, feel it below her. She listened for a moment, then continued. She didn't rightly know where she was going, only that she had to go there. One thousand three hundred thirty one steps. Eleven cubed. Eleven. Important number. Prime number. One walks into the house eleven times but always comes out one. She pushed the door open. Eleven pounds of pressure. Elevens and elevens and elevens. She walked again, closing her eyes and reaching out with her mind. She could feel them here. Sees-While-Blind, and Two-Lives. They meant something to her. She couldn't precisely remember what. The screaming was louder now. One hundred twenty one steps. Eleven squared. Eleven again, and the room, fourty-eight eleven. The door was open, and she heard the wind gust in from an open window at the end of the hall. A chill, autumn breeze, carrying the first teeth of winter. The leaves had fallen, and now were carried away. Gently, she pushed the door open. The leaves were everywhere here. Each one a scream, a breaking. A violation. The wind spun them about, sending them into spirals where the drafts pulled up. The bed held the most of them, all red and corpulent and base. Rotted before they fell. Sickly sweet of a bog, even while alive. The leaves shifted, a pseudopod of decomposing chloroplasts flopping about. Not yet dead, yet dead long ago. Two-Lives was in the middle of the sole clearing, where the leaves had been wafted away. She wept. Sylvia remembered what it felt like to weep. It felt bad. Bad. Mal, in the Latin. "She's dead," Two-Lives said. Sees-While-Blind shook his head, finally noticing her. "Sylvia?" he asked, voice astounded. Sometimes, she wanted to tell him. Tell him the truth. She couldn't though. Not then, and not now. The truth was so fragile. And now, it was broken. "I tried to find the high ground," she said, trying to explain. "Tried, but the flood came to quick. Washed away. Wall of water then splash. Drowning." "Syl?" he said, but she was already moving past him into the clearing. She placed her hands on Runs-From-Self, relishing in pain. Hot lead as a gift, the gift of death. But not dead. Still warm. Still oxygen in the blood. She focused her will, ignored the pain she felt on her everywhere. Runs-From-Self shuddered and coughed, her eyes opening wide, then falling shut again. The chest rose and fell. The Runs-From-Self was not having death. "Unconscious," Two-Lives said, a bit in awe. "She's alive, but unconscious. Jacob, pick her up. We've got to get out of here before the notice that," she pointed to the slowly reddening mound on the bed. Corpulent and decayed. Dead before death. "Syl?" Sees-While-Blind asked. "How did you get here?" "I was," she answered. He waited for her to continue. "Was there, now here. Jacob?" That was his name. Jacob. She reached out her hand, running her fingers down the scar on his face. "Does it hurt?" she asked. "Every damn day," he said, lifting up the unconcious body of Runs-From-Self. She didn't know this one. Eyes said it was... Friday, her name was. Eyes said Friday, other senses said anything but. Disconnected. Chaotic. Didn't fit. Two where only should be one, by one sense. Eyes must be wrong. Ears too. She felt herself being tugged along, her eyes closed and her ears willed shut. She felt the carpet under her bare toes. Felt the leaves as they crunched. Felt the wind as it picked them up and spun them about. Memories and laughter. Pain and fear. Carpet became metal. Cold, and not-soft. Like the other place. The smell of blood. The wind began to register now, pebbling her skin under the robe. Wind of the mind and wind of the world became one, and she opened her eyes. "Jacob?" Two-Deaths-Follow asked. Not that... Anne. Her name was Anne. "What the hell is she doing here?" "Ain't got no proper idea," Jacob said, dragging Sylvia behind him with one hand and settling Runs-From-Self down on the narrow bed with the other. The room that flies felt different. She couldn't exactly tell why. She lay down on the bed opposite Runs-From-Self, staring at Friday's face on the not-Friday. "This don't instill me with any calm," Anne said. She was afraid. Ears said angry, others said afraid. Not just now. Always. Always afraid. "Can't say as it does in me, neither," Jacob agreed. "But weren't it for her, we'd be bringing back a corpse instead of a Companion." Anne scoffed. "Heard from Zane, he's at the back doors now. Early's take wasn't exactly the payday what you said it would be. We're getting them now." Sylvia could feel Bright-Dark-Light and Here-I-Am, somewhere below her. Her eyes slid closed. She'd slept for so very long, but now, all she was was tired. So tired. "What's next?" she heard Anne ask.  
"There's a fence for this gos-se on Boros we should talk to. Sylvia may have dealt with the dying part, but mei-mei still needs time to heal. My old MedAcad always has room. We can leave her there for a spell." "Some time to breath would be a fine thing," Jacob said. "They come when you ask them," Sylvia whispered. "They come when you call. Two by two... but hands... not... blue." Jacob came closer, sqatting in front of her to look her in the eye. "What is it? You figuring something?" A tear leaked from Sylvia's eye as she looked up at him. "Do you know what your sin is?"  
<>  
John sighed. "This is pointless," he said. Jane waved him away, her bright eyes wide as she watched the feed. This was the last known recording of Anne Roykerk's whereabouts in existence, dated five years ago. It showed the long-haired woman entering a whorehouse, obviously against her preference, and take a seat at the bar. "We should focus on James. She will come for her brother," John pointed out. "Dead. Last year, of Bowden's Malady," Jane replied lightly, not altering her gaze a scintilla. "Documentation is in there," she pointed blindly over her shoulder behind her, and continued to watch the screen. "What about..." he shuffled through the papers in the spot she had accurately located. "James' widow? Surely that will offer some leverage." "Too many degrees of separation," Jane chastized. On the feed, a man of middling height with shaggy hair stumbled down the stairs, barely catching himself at the bottom with the help of a solid looking Asian man with a pronounced widow's peak. "There must be something we are missing," John muttered. "There might be something you're making me miss," Jane hissed, still watching the feed. It wasn't the first time she watched it today. Or within the last thirty minutes, in point of fact. The feed continued, and the shaggy haired one found his way to Anne's seat. He spoke to her, a wide grin on his face showing that it couldn't be any kind thing, and the scowl barely visible on hers saying that she didn't appreciate it. She slapped him. He bumped into another man behind him, spilling the man's drink onto another fellow seated nearby. The chain reaction set off a bar-brawl faster than John could draw his sword. These Rim Worlds could truly be uncivilized, sometimes. "This is the fourth time you've watched that," John pointed out, somewhat needlessly. She shushed him without altering her gaze a whit. Anne almost got slashed, dropping out of its path, but not before it sheared off a goodly amount of her hair. The fight grew in scale until it was too disorderly even to be classafiable as a riot. "Wait," she said. "backtrack."  
The feed ran backwards for a moment, till just after Anne's impromptu haircut. "Replay slow," Jane ordered. The feed began to crawl forward, and Jane's finger pointed at the shaggy-haired man who inadvertedly started the maelstrom. "That's him." "That is whom?" John asked.  
"She cut her hair, cut it short," Jane said, suddenly sounding very excited. "Shorter than... He knows where she is. Seen her. Recently seen." "You are sure?" John asked. Jane favored him with a 'what are you, retarded? Of course I am' look. He figured as much. She was almost always right. It was the reason she was here. "Bring up file from capture," he commanded, and the computer on the small ship hummed to life. He leaned close, running a thumb along his neatly trimmed beard. "Jacob Greyson. Ship's captain. Damn. How do we get the attention of an itinerant?" "The crew," Jane said, glancing his way at last. "Right. Manifest lists no pilot... Odd. A former slave named Zane, the failure Early and a doctor. Friday Yiao. I know that name." Jane arched a golden eyebrow at him.  
"Bring up hospital admissions, planet Boros, last name, Yiao," the computer sped along its business, finally displaying the information he needed. "There. Monday Yiao, admitted earlier today at the Boros Medical Academy. Registered Companion, and, birth records state as identical twin sister of Friday. Monday will bring Friday." Jane grinned, and John continued.  
"Friday will bring Greyson, and Greyson will give us Roykerk."

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Title:   **2:01(Mistletoe) through 2:03(Monday's Child)**   
Series Name:   **Legacy**   
Author:   **James the Dark**   
Details:   **Series**  |  **PG-13**  |  **117k**  |  **01/18/06**   
Characters:  Other \- Jacob Greyson and the Crew of Legacy   
Summary:  Legacy almost comes apart as the crew rescues Sylvia, a new foe is introduced, and Friday's past is finally revealed.   
  



End file.
